The Text
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: Oneshot, set before the Sam/Dean drama, in an earlier season. Oh, the horrors of modern day technology. Dean gets a text, and Sam doesn’t care. Brotherly banter, humor, and a weird chick experience. Please review!


**Title: The Text**

**Author: fairytalemanipulator**

**Summary: Oneshot. Oh, the horrors of modern day technology. Dean gets a text, and Sam doesn't care. Brotherly banter, humor, and a weird chick experience. Read and review!**

**A/N: Couple of bad words in this, but I thought they were necessary, hee hee. I'm slowwwllyyy getting back into the Supernatural fanfic world but if you're into Harry Potter, check out the new stories I've put up for those lately!**

**Please review, and let me know what I can do to make it better or what you liked!**

**Enjoy, dears.**

******************************

"So, Sammy. I got this text…" Dean was lounging on the motel bed, unshaven and scruffy looking from barhopping the night before. Sam, on the other hand, had his laptop on and was clicking away busily, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"I get texts too, sometimes."

"Shut up, I don't care. From this chick I met at the bar last night, you remember her?"

"Big…breasts?" Sam motioned with his hands, too, much to Dean's bemusement.

"No, that was the bartender, but I got her number too," Cackling, he winked at his younger brother who proceeded to roll his eyes in an excruciatingly slow manner.

"You can wipe that grin off her face, I'm still not convinced she wasn't a guy."

"Are you kidding me with this? Like I would be attracted to something with a penis."

"Uh, really? Because the fact that you were on the wrestling team your freshman year in high school worried me a little, bro,"

Silence.

"You're a really terrible person to tell stories to, Sammy. Can I just finish?" Dean scratched his nose, picking up his phone and thumbing through the messages.

"If you must."

"Okay so this chick, she was blonde and tiny and she looked totally breakable and I was definitely not into her, because really, who likes girls that look like Skeletor…"

"So you're a chubby chaser?"

"…"

"Don't give me that look, Dean, you said it yourself."

"Did I say I was into…heavy…women?"

"No, but you implied it. It's totally cool, you remember that hunter we met a few weeks ago? His wife is really big and he says that they have the best sex because he can do things with her that he can't—"

"Ew, what the hell? That eighties punk rock guy that needed a good dose of dandruff shampoo? I really don't want to hear the rest of that, can I finish my damn story please?"

"It's a story about a text. Is it really that important?"

"Oh I'm sorry, is college boy playing video games online with his nerd cyber friends because he has no one to talk to in real life?"

"Says the guy who talks to me and Bobby."

Pause.

"Okay you do have a point there, I take that one back. But anyway, like I was saying—"

"Dean, I will have you know that I'm checking the local papers in those spots we saw spread out animal maulings, so yes, it is important work."

"Good to know that you know how to take a break and relax, Sammy. So about this text. That chick, I was like, I didn't know what to say because yeah she was blonde but she didn't have boobs and she smelled like she bathed in one of your expensive bottles of cologne—"

"So she smelled like a guy. Why does this theme keep cropping up?"

"For the last. Damn. Time. I am not into guys."

"As far as you know."

"I would think that's something that I would KNOW know!"

"But what if you don't know if you know it?"

"I would know if I knew it because that's something that you would have to know!" Dean huffed, glaring with bloodshot eyes. "Seriously! It's like you want me to say I bat for the other team just because you do, you pansy."

"Just because I don't need to get laid once every five days doesn't mean my preferences lie with—"

"Yeah, okay, deny deny deny. If you're gonna try to get me on that wagon then I'm gonna pin you there too,"

"Again with the pinning! I swear, wrestling was only the first tip…"

"Anyway, you little bitch…"

"Yeah?"

"Back to the text. So I gave her my number anyway because she asked for it, and hey—" Dean flashed a brilliant smile. "Who am I to deny the female population my hot body?"

"So you basically pimp yourself out."

Dean sucked in a long breath, and let his head hit the headboard with a resounding 'thwack'. "You are really looking for a fight, aren't you?"

"You started it! I'm just trying to get some work done here and you have to tell me about your stupid text story, do you even know how to text? Isn't that a little after your time, Grandpa?"

Sam hadn't meant to say that, considering Dean's birthday had just recently come and gone with just an extra beer as acknowledgement.

Dean didn't exactly enjoy getting closer to thirty.

"Err, Dean, I meant—"

Dean held up a hand.

"Dean, it's not that you're old, it's just—"

"Shh."

"De—"

"Just because you're jealous of my stunningly good looks doesn't mean you can wound me like that, bro. That was harsh."

"We're brothers. We have the same looks."

"We're not twins, moron. Thought you went to college and understood all that genetics crap?"

A deep sigh permeated the room. "Do you honestly want me to explain to you why we aren't completely identical related to genetics, but have similar features? Because it will truly make you want to bash your head into that dirty mirror over there."

"Sorry I tuned you out for a bit there, just got another text. What the hell does bee tee dubs mean?"

"Pardon?"

"Bee. Tee. Dubs."

Sam marched across the room, yanking the phone from his protesting brother's grasp ("Hey! That's private!"). Peering at it, he let out a snort.

"Uh, it means by the way."

"Did you just make that up? You just made that up."

"No, it's kind of a common thing."

"Like 'omg!'?"

"Yeah, Dean, like 'omg'." Sam kept his face straight, settling back into his seat at the table.

_Blink._

"I still think you're making it up, I bet it's something dirty,"

"Why does it always have to be something dirty?"

"It's not always something dirty!"

"When I was 8 you taught me dirty Scrabble. When I was 10 you taught me dirty Monopoly, which, by the way, makes no sense at all."

"Yeah it does, I can't help it if you don't have an imagination. But I didn't teach you strip poker, that would just be weird,"

"Why, I thought you like asking guys to take their clothes off?"

"Dude! Disgusting! That's incest plus gross!"

"So, in text form, that would be I plus G."

"Legit?"

"No, you idiot, that one I did make up."

"I was gonna say, if they need an abbreviation for that then our society's in more trouble than I thought,"

Contemplative silence fell over the two as they settled back into their normal routines, with Sam typing and focusing and Dean texting with intense concentration, to the point where his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Catching a glimpse of this, Sam smirked.

"Little too difficult for you there?"  
"These…buttons…won't…press…"

"Try lifting weights, I hear those strengthen your upper body,"

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Francis,"

"I still don't understand where Francis came from!"

"Because you're a freak of nature. Anyway, back to the story. So I gave her my number, and lo-and-behold! I wake up this fine, fine morning to find a text from her saying that she has a surprise for me,"

"Gonorrhea all wrapped up with a bow?"

"Now that's just rude, Sammy. You wouldn't say that to a lady, so don't say it about her,"

"No, I was talking about your surprise for her,"

"For your information, smartass, I have never and will never get one of those dirty diseases. Unlike you, when you're thirty and alone and end up hiring hookers on an hourly basis,"

"Oh, you mean like you will in a year?"

Crickets chirped.

"Oh, come on, Dean, it's a joke!"

"It's too close to the truth, man. That automatically makes it not funny,"

"Or more funny," Sam mumbled through his teeth, focusing on his screen so he wouldn't see Dean shooting laser beams out of his eyes. "Are you ever going to get out of bed?"

"Nope, not until this fine specimen of woman tells me what her surprise is gonna be,"

"You do realize that five minutes ago, you were going on and on about how she looked like a skeleton—"

"SkeleTOR, get it right, jackass,"

"Right, SkeleTOR, and now she's a fine specimen of woman?"

"Every woman is a fine specimen of woman, because women are…women! Only you wouldn't be aware of that, poor kid,"

Sam muttered to himself, something along the lines of "just because…having sex…more important things…".

"Sorry dude, you just have to admit I have more game than you. I don't even do anything, I roll right out of bed and the ladies are all over me…"

"Oh, you mean like last night, when you said let's go to the bar, and I said sure, and I stood at the door for twenty minutes while you fixed your hair and kept changing your shirt to 'show off your arms'?"

Dean coughed. "That's different,"

"How is that different?"

"Well I figured that I could fix myself up a little bit, get twice as many, you know?"

"Dean, you had like three girls talk to you last night, if that's twice as many then…you usually talk to one and a half girls, which is altogether sad. And apparently one of them is a skeleton."

"Oh yeah, genius boy? How many chicks did you get last night?"

"Four phone numbers."

Silence.

"What?!" Dean's eyes were comically wide, and he looked as if he was searching very hard for words.

"Just because I don't brag about it, then go off to one-night-stand them doesn't mean I don't have game,"

"But…but…"

"Yeah, that's right. What now?" Sam grinned, showing his teeth.

"You...I taught you everything you know!"

"Yeah, like I'm really gonna follow your advice and tell a girl about the gun show tickets thing,"

"They go for it! I got so much ass with that in high school,"

"How about that line, uh, what was it again, space pants something?"

"…oh right, that was a bad one, don't use it."

"You think?"

"Don't get a complex, Sammy, just because on one night you get more numbers than me…I don't see you texting any chicks anyway, oh right, that's ME." Dean pouted, ego sufficiently wounded and making up for it by launching a temper tantrum.

"Dean, you do realize that the surprise she has is probably a naked picture of herself?"

"How do you know that? Oh right, psychic, huh?"

"It's just common sense, sexting is the most common form of—"

"Excuse me?"

"I said it's the most—"

"Did you say…sexting?"

"Yes…?"

"STOP MAKING SHIT UP!"

"I'm not making it up!"

"You don't sound smarter, Sam!"

"I'm not trying to!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"No. I'm. Not!"

"YES!"

"NO!"

Dean's phone vibrated, and he forfeited the argument in favor of hastily flipping it open, his eyes lighting up in anticipation of his "surprise". Unfortunately, flipping it too far, it ended up flying over the bed and onto the floor.

"Shit. Can you get that?"

"Dean. It's under your bed."

"You're closer to it."

"How am I closer to it?"

"Well, I don't want to get up! And you're already up," Dean set his jaw, scowling, throwing in for added measure "AND I'm older."

"Yeah you don't have to remind me of that," Sam mumbled, picking his battles and retrieving the lost phone.

"Don't look!"

"Like I want to see a skeleton naked."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"I know."

Silence.

"Dude, she says her surprise is…"

A loud rap vibrated the motel room door.

Dean shot up, eyes wide. "The surprise is her!"

Sam looked at the door, mouth dropping open. "She couldn't have just sent you a picture of her breasts and be done with it?"

"Dude, I don't want her!"

"What?"

"She's so weird looking! I swear, she creeps me out! I was hoping for like, a little phone sex or something, but sweet Jesus she's weird!"

"You gave her your number! And apparently told her where we were staying!"

The door vibrated again, with a louder and more insistent knock.

"I was drinking, okay? I didn't know what I was doing and holy shit don't make me answer the door,"

"Well I'm not answering it."

A keening voice came from outside the door. "Deanie Beanie, your surprise is here…"

"She's trying to sound sexy and it's not working, oh God what did I do?"

"Maybe she'll think we're not here if we're really quiet,"

"Uh. I kind of…told her we're in the room,"

The tapping of one high heeled shoe could be heard on the other side of the door.

"You're an idiot."

"I'm the idiot?! I just gave her my number, usually chicks don't do this!"

"Well now you have to answer the door."

"Quick, there's a window in the bathroom."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"FRIGGIN' GO!"

"Dean, I—"

The knocking on the door got louder and more insistent.

"If we can go around her, I can get the car and we can split before she even notices,"

Dean was throwing his clothes wildly into a duffel bag, tripping over the rug in his haste.

"Dean, she's just a girl! Just tell her to go away!"

All movement ceased in the room, and Dean looked up at Sam, horrified by his statements.

"If you had seen her, Sammy…_she looks. Like. A. Skeleton_."

"You're scared of a girl?"

Dean harrumphed. "I'm not…scared, I'm just not…excited,"

"Fine, I'll tell her to go away."

Dean was frozen, and the more he looked back on the moment, the more he realized that he should have done something, perhaps something dramatic like tackling Sam to the ground, or shooting him with rock salt again, or…something.

But no. He did nothing.

Sam wrenched open the door, fully ready to tell her off when he caught sight of her.

His eyes went wider than he thought humanly possible.

"Oh, well, hello," she purred, looking for all intentions like a creepy little doll with blonde hair pasted on top of her head. "Is Dean here?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Err, he's…"

Not waiting for an answer, the girl shoved past Sam's arm into the room, catching sight of a terrified, traumatized Dean.  
"DEANIE BEANIE!"

**End.**

**Please review!**


End file.
